Meet the Panther
by Spitfire123
Summary: When Mann Co. hires a black, teenage girl from Chicago to join RED, will her spirits and power be able to keep her there? Or will she feel more loyalty to her activist group, the Black Panthers? When the day comes, she will have to choose one. But which? (1960s, somewhat historical. OC, new class.)
1. Chapter 1

"Goddammit Mama, leave me alone!" I shouted, hauling my luggage out the front door. My Mama followed me, nagging again about whatever a mother nags about. "I'll be fine, Ma."

"And don't chu be goin' to any a' those rallies. Just do your work and come 'ome safe."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it Mama!"

"And don't chu be gettin'-"

"Bye Ma!" We both sigh a moment and give each other minuet hugs, tensions still high.

Then I leave, going to work at some place called Mann Co. or something. All I know is that I'll be doin' what I love most, fightin'.

* * *

As I pull my truck into the confines of the company building, I am flagged down and out for examinations. It's a borin' story, so I ain't gonna bother you with it.

Movin' on, I'm given a short tour of the dormitories and the respawn room or somethin'. Right after, I'm set free to "bond" or whatever.

So get this, I walk into the respawn room, and there are tons of shirtless guys! I just about died of embarrassment!

Just before I turned to leave, some asshole calls to me. For the sake of bein' polite, I don't leave, blush stainin' my cheeks.

The guy that called me stalks over, shirtless, though not quite as breathtakin' as the other men. He's skinny, no abs or nothin', wearin' cleats and fuckin' long socks. He looks like an idiot

"What?" I say and he just smirks infuriatingly.

"Did the Admins ebony puppy get lost?" He asks me. I try to calm my voice and anger. Not only did he mention my race, he called me a puppy! Not that I don't like dogs, I'm just.. Human!

"Did it hurt?" I smirk at his unknowing look.

"Wha-"

"Well, I figured your mother had to have dropped you pretty hard for you to be this retarded." A couple chuckles can be heard from the crowd of men. The guy sulks a bit, obviously understanding that I wanted nothin' to do with him, and I leave, seeing that nothin' and no one else seemed to want to initiate a conversation.

It's kinda.. Lonely is the only word to describe it. I'm stationed at a place called 2fort, out in the middle of nowhere. They say its a ceasefire. But what are we fightin' over? Beats me, that's for sure. But I'm bein' paid to fight, so I'll fight. It's good money too.

I'm lookin' around our side o' the fort when the same guy from before comes back. At least this time he's wearin' a shirt..

"Hey, sorry about before." He's apologizin'? Before I can say anything, he sticks his hand out. "Nathan, nice to meetcha!" He laughs as I take his hand, albeit a little warily.

"Michelle, Michelle Aspen Milburn." I say back, enunciating with a strong grip.

"Where ya from?"

"Chicago."

"Aw jeez, they suck!"

"What?"

"Da Cubs! Dey suck!"

"HEY! The Sox aren't any better!" I just guessed a city, I mean, the guy freakin' sounds Bostonian! But it's true, the Sox still got da CURSE, if ya know what I mean.

"Yeah, but at least we beat you guys in 1918!"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Woah, woah, mates, calm down, awlright?" It's a different voice, and it's comin' from the Australian sniper guy.

"You ain't in this Dick!" Nathan said, turning to face the Aussie.

"My name is Richard!"

"Whatever Dick." I laugh softly at how worked up the Aussie is gettin'.

"Don't mess with the bull, Nathan. You'll get the horns." He says menacingly and takes his leave before Nathan can get another insult in. Nathan seems to forget him in an instant and turns back to me.

"You play?"

"Play what?"

"Baseball, of course!"

"No shit, Sherlock!" As soon as I say that, he tosses me a ball, seams worn and faded. I can tell he's use it a lot.

"Ready?" He asks.

"Bitch, I was born ready."

* * *

**A/N: Oh, a new baseball player? Scout (Nathan) has some competition~! it's not her main weapon/skill though, so don't worry too much. I'll get to fighting more in the next couple chapters**

**R&R thanks for reading!**

**edit: For the sake of historical purposes, this takes place in 1966 (in which both the Cubs and the Sox were not very good, and was one of Chicago's civil rights years). Yes, I know that the original TF2 takes place in 1968. Have I chosen to ignore this fact? Yes. Yes I have.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Catch, cock, snap, release._

_Catch, cock, snap, release._

It's a rhythm. A calming rhythm I haven't felt for ages. It's really hard to establish an all-black team in America, and it's even harder to find a team that will accept a black girl. Ever since my older brother was killed at a rally down in Alabama, I haven't had a throwing partner. All my siblings are younger. They complain about my throws.

I can hear Nathan try to make small talk, but I don't respond. I just catch and throw.

"Michelle?" I look at him. He looks confused.

"What?" I say back, quietly with a cocked eyebrow. He points behind me and I look. The sun is settin', and rays of orange light burst from the horizon. It's.. Actually kinda pretty. You never really see something like that until you're out here. You can't see a sunset like that in a big city like Chicago. It's just not possible.

In the background, I hear Nathan say somethin' about goin' inside for dinner and I nod. It's an absentminded gesture, but I turn and follow him to the mess (is that the right word?) hall behind the fightin' grounds. It's small, given it's only supposed to hold, at most, around fifteen people.

The food is unrecognisable. I have no clue what it is (later I find out it's some sort of beef thing on bread, but trust me, it looks like shit*.) but it tastes okay none the less. I really only ate it because I didn't want to offend this Texan guy who told me to eat it. It would suck to get on someone's bad-side less than twenty-four hours into my job.

The guys are all talking about fightin', 'cause apparently the ceasefire's endin' tomorrow. It'll be my first real day on the job. In a weird way, I'm not nervous. I'm excited, given, but not nervous. I know I'll do fine.

Then one of them turns to me with a questioning glance. "What weapons do you use?" I freeze with a piece of the shit bread in my mouth. Weapons?

I really don't know what I'll use. I usually just pick up the nearest object and hurl it at the police.

"Um, a crowbar?" I see them chuckle a little more. Nathan leans over to whisper in my ear.

"They want to know what kind of gun."

"Shotgun?" I ask, and it's still not right, because amused looks fail to be wiped off their smug faces. Dammit, think of something!

"I excel at hand to hand combat, so I don't usually use guns?" Why not go with the truth? The NRA just fixed up the Panthers with rifles after I accepted this job. I've only ever used knives and, well, crowbars. It was easy to get those back at home. "And occasionally Molotov cocktails, I guess." It's true! I threw them at cars a lot.. Rallies get really exciting in Chicago.

That statement evoked a response in the only other black person there. Not that it mattered, since we're all equals. It's just a habit I grew up with, that livin' in the slums of Chicago taught you at an early age. Stick to your own race and you won't get hurt.  
"'Ay, you like making things explode lassie?"

"That's not really why I did it.." I tried to explain, but it didn't work as well as I had hoped.

"See lads! The lass understands me!" I guess he was happy about that?

Then he turns to me, "The name's Tavish Degroot, the demolitions expert. And yours lassie?" He grins at me.

"Michelle." I say back, nodding a bit. "I'm just the new girl. Nothing special."

* * *

I prepare for a battle like I prepare for a rally. Cargo pants, loose tank, Converse, crowbar. Man, I'm hyped up! No nerves, just adrenaline. Nathan is beside me, stretching his quads. Beside him is the big Russian guy and the German guy. The others are in the other respawn room.

The announcer comes on the intercom and tells us to "Get going!" so we did.

Nathan sprints out to the roof and I follow him. He jumps onto the top of the bridge, and I try to as well, but the bridge is too far for me to jump. I end up hangin' onto the edge of the roof like some five year old kid on monkey bars. I really didn't live long after that. A rocket to the face is what killed me.

When I come out from the darkness, Richard greets me in the respawn room, getting something I guess. He beckons me closer and tells me that there are a pair of tunnels bellow the bridge. I guess he wants me to go down there for whatever reason. Maybe it's easier?

As soon as I leave the respawn though, I'm shot down by the enemy Russian guy and his giant gun. Well shit..

When I finally respawn again, I'm in the other room. I head out toward to roof, only to be shot down by the BLU sniper.

When I finally respawn again (what is this, the fifth time?!) I can't help but scream. Dying is so frustrating!

This time I drop down through to the first floor of the fort. I grab my pistol from its holster and inch around to the sewers. By the time I'm there, everything is on autopilot. My eyes are fluttering and my ears are ringing. When I'm down in the sewers, I'm checking entrance and exit continuously, grasping my gun with unwavering force. My knuckles are white by the time I turn the corner, coming face to face with my own body.

It's confusing for a moment, before the other lashes out, dropping the disguise. It's an enemy spy.

I duck just in time and the knife barely clips my shoulder, leaving parts of the weapon red. In retaliation, I thrust my arm up, knocking him off balance.

I can almost hear him growl, but by now, my ears are pounding with blood and nerves. I grab the crowbar from my belt and swing down. The swing looked good until he sidestepped it, with apparent ease.

"Come now," he mocks, grinning." I knew you were new, but that's no excuse to miss!"

I feel my cheeks heat up with rage. I can hardly see straight when I swing at him the second time. The anger is getting the better of me, I can feel it. It's messing up my timing, but by now, I don't care. I just want him dead and gone.

His stabs never miss and his thrusts don't fail. It's me who can't do a thing. I feel the metal delve deep into my flesh, even going so far as to brush the bone of my shoulder or my arms, until I've had enough.

The knife finds its mark in my stomach, and dull pain gives way to fierce, fiery determination. I grip his hand in a tight bind, pulling out the knife and twisting his arm until I hear a sickening, telltale crack. It makes me grin, and I can taste the blood on my own teeth. His body shudders, I can feel it tremble. How pitiful.

"Come on," I gurgle slightly while talking. "I knew you were French, but that's no excuse to surrender!" It's mocking, and it feels damn good.

With his arm still pinned and his face stuffed under the sewage water, I pick up my crowbar and finish him off.

* * *

**A/N: see? I promised you guys some fighting! Anyways, if there are any criticisms you guys want to give me, please do! And for gods sake, please tell me if this character, Michelle, is getting too Mary-sue-ish! And I changed the summary. Why? Because I can.**

***SOS, otherwise known as shit on a shingle.**


	3. Chapter 3

At the end of the day, I don't do too bad! I kill a couple more enemies (and die more than I'd like to admit..), and by the time dinner rolls around (you don't get a lunch break, so eat up during breakfast and dinner) I'm starving. At this point, I don't care whether it's shit on a shingle or what, I just want food. Glorious, amazing food.

The mess hall is filled with hungry noises as we all wait for the Engineer (y'know that Texan guy from before? Yeah, him.) to finish cookin' something. The smell of cooked beef wafts through the air and I watch the rest of my team's mouths water. My own waters as well.

The Engineer walks through the door with a pot of chipped beef and a plate stacked high with toast. I clench my muscles, staying loaded and ready to strike. The Engie puts the pot down first and I'm twitchin' by the time the plate is set on the table.

I lash out, grabbin' the nearest piece of bread, though I am not alone. The German guy is on the other end, glaring at me through his spectacles.

"Gib mir Brot!" He looks angry when he glares, and I kinda just let him have it. I grab another piece though, and start slathering beef spread on it and stuffin' it in my mouth. The German guy fixes his glasses and sits back in his chair, patiently and neatly spreading a bit of beef onto the bread. He's so polite and well-mannered that it's kind of... intimidatin'.

...Y'know who he reminds me of? My mom. She's always bitchin' about how I ain't a polite lady and shit. Screw it, I'm here. I don't need to be thinkin' about that right now.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the Pyro take his (?) food and leave the table. Guess he's self-conscience or somethin'? Doesn't like takin' off his mask in front of people?

I shrug to myself and finish up, grabbin' seconds, and eventually thirds until we all run out of food. I can hear groans from the men around me as we all head back to our rooms. We're all tired already, even me. First day on the job, and I'm already exhausted. I guess I better get used to it. I'll just try to remember not to die, and I should be fine.

* * *

When I get back to my room, nothin' feels better than flopping on a somewhat soft mattress and falling asleep.

However, thats not the case with me. I still had some unpackin' to do. No, I don't feel like doin' it, but it has to get done.

First out of the half-filled bag comes some extra shoes. Converse, more Converse, and some.. High-heels my Mama must have snuck in there when I wasn't looking. It doesn't matter much, and I throw them to the side somewhere.

Second thing I begin unpackin' are the pictures of my family. I have a pretty big family. Two younger sisters and three younger brothers. I believe I mentioned this before, but I had a brother who was five years older than me. I kinda miss him.

He really was my best friend.. Knew when and how to cheer me up, and when to stop sugarcoatin' it and tell me the goddamn truth.. He had lots of cool stories too. Not happy stories, but they were still cool. Stories of George Washington Carver, Tuskagee airmen, and of David Blackwell. But the stories about Harriet Tubman were always the best. How she wouldn't let anyone turn back, and kept her gun at the ready. When I was younger, I would always pick up a stick and run around, crawling through grass and mud, leading my pack of invisible people while my brother laughed at my antics.

Life was great back then. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't close to being perfect, but I was happy. My brother is dead, and there ain't no respawn to bring him back.

I hid that picture of my brother away in the closet; away from prying eyes, whether they be mine or someone else's.

Then there is a picture of my friends from the neighbourhood I lived in. Just a bunch of rowdy kids.

Ahaha, black power right? We all joined Black Power and the Black Panthers when we turned fifteen. That was right after my brother was killed.

Anyways, I bet you're all sick and tired of hearin' me talk about myself, right?

I'm tired, and my eyelids start to droop. I can't keep unpackin' or I'll fall asleep doing so. And I've got a long day tomorrow. I want to be ready for that.

Good night brother, God be with you.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, breakfast is uneventful, to say the least. All of us just share a comfortable silence. No questions, and no answers.

The hash that the Pyro made us for breakfast is tasteless. Either that, or I just cannot taste anymore.

Last night was spent thinkin', not sleeping. Dreaming, not restin'. Now I have bags beneath my eyes, but it does not matter. I have wasted time, but I have also honoured the spirits. Forgive but never forget.

When I am done with the hash, I bring the plate to the sink. It takes a minute or two to wash, and after doin' so, I head to the respawn room. Not that I have any business bein' there, there's just no where else to go.

As I roll up the door, something silver catches my eye. It's hidden away in the corner, and I take a moment to crouch down and pick it up.

It's a coin, but I've never seen it before in the States. I flip it over a few times in my hand. One side has got a large five and cent sign, and the others got what looks to be an eagle. Maybe it's an old US. coin?

Either way, it's mine now. Pocket money is always good to have.

After a while, the others begin to trickle in from the mess hall. It's almost time to begin when I notice something new in the locker (or cubby, or whatever you call it) I was assigned yesterday. I mean, I didn't put it there. I think it's some sort of clothing?

When I pull it out, it's unfolds quite easily. It's some camouflage green, one piece, jumper thing. On the side is a tag that reads 'For when the weather gets cold, may this Joliet* jumper keep you warm - RED Mann CO.'.

.. Joliet? Really? I'm from Chicago, not some dinky little town.. (though it isn't quite that dinky, I guess...)

Well, whatever. Clothes are clothes. Might as well try it on.

I begin to take my shirt off when I realize there are still people in here. Okay, almost-awkward-situation avoided.

I look around for someplace I could change. Is there _no_ bathroom here? I finally just ask the guys to stand against a wall and turn their backs to me while I change. There isn't really any other way.

Once that is over, I actually get to test out how the material feels and stuff. The jumper is actually pretty comfortable, and since it's starting to get a little chilly out there, I might as well wear it. The long sleeves will keep my arms nice and warm. I smile as I grab my weapons. Today, I think I'll just focus on defending our side of the fort.

When the round starts, I head to the grated openin' that allows you to drop down to the first floor. But instead of doin' that, I wait on the ledge. Someone should run beneath this soon, and then they'll be easy pickings.

Before that can happen though, a bloody Nathan comes backpedaling in from the sewers, yelling for help. My hand flies to my belt before I can even think about it, and I drop down, pulling my pistol from its holster. The enemy engineer comes chasing after Nathan, and with a couple of shots in the back, the engineer is dead.

Nathan glares, "Kill steal." I smirk back.

"You were the one callin' for help."

"Was not!"

"Were too! I heard ya!" And just like that, we're in a tussle. It was mostly a blur, but somehow I managed to get on top of him.

I was pullin' my arm back for a punch when I heard footsteps above us near the respawn room. They were light. Too light to be anyone on my team. Nathan must've heard them too, because his eyes were wide. I motion him to be quiet, and I crawl over to get my pistol from where I dropped it while fightin'.

Then I realize somethin'. Our Engineer isn't out here with his sentry. That means he went on the offensive. _Shit._

'It's a scout. We gotta protect the Intel.' I mouth to Nathan, and he nods back. The footsteps start to run toward the entrance to the intelligence room, and we follow, guns at the ready.

He goes toward the spiral and I go towards the straight entrance. At the top of the stairs, I just barely catch a glimpse of that BLU scout. He's racing downstairs like a bat outta hell. I follow him just as quickly with my gun, and round the corner to see Nathan shootin' the living daylights outta that poor, intel-stealing scout. I come in with a couple of shots towards the end. The scout is dead and the intel is on the ground.

The Announcer comes on over the intercom: "The Panther has defended the intelligence."

"**KILL STEAL!"**

* * *

**A/N: I understand Nathan's pain. Kill stealers are annoying.. especially when it's a medic. Then it's really annoying.**

**edit: I forgot to say this, but Joliet is a city SW of Chicago. Just sayin'**


	5. Chapter 5

In a couple weeks (it's now late November), another ceasefire takes place. The men and I are all just sitting in the respawn (save the Pyro, because who knows where he goes..). There really isn't much to do here except check the mail. On the bench is a small pile of envelopes, colors varying from yellow to purple, thick ones and thin ones.

I pick one of my own letters out of the pile (it's my Mama's favorite color: violet) and tear the seal open to read it.

The letter reads:

_Michelle,_

_Your siblings and I miss you very much already. They have been begging to visit you, but I digress. They have also begun to ask to visit the demonstrations, and you know I cannot allow that. But now with that new young reverend from down south, I might._

_1966 is a harsh year for us, but with the money you are sending, it is making it easier. You're the sole reason why our family hasn't broken yet. Your father is still missing, and I am fairly certain that he will never turn up in the search. He is an ocean and a half away._

_Uncle Rich is still in Memphis working that damn sanitation job he has been for over ten years. I continuously offer to let him live with us, but he refuses._

_That boy, Martin, keeps asking about you though, where you went, what you are doing and the like._

I think my mother interpreted that wrong. Martin is a member of the Black Panthers. He's probably just asking because he thinks I was skipping the last couple meetings (which I kinda was.. being at 2fort and such).

_Hope is also looking for you. She says it's really important. Write to her in your next letter to me._

She expects a letter in return? Who said I was gonna write her? Well, whatever. Hope is probably gonna reprimand me for missin' meetings too, but it's not like I can help it! I'm fourteen hours from damn Chicago!

_I hope you are enjoying whatever secret work you are doing there, but remember to have fun!_

_ Mary Milburn_

Oh, that's right.. I didn't tell her what I was doing over here in 2fort. I go to put the letter back in the envelope (it's a habit, alright?), and something else falls from the folded paper carrier.

I catch it. It is some sort of pamphlet thing. On the top of the sheet 'Ten Point Program-Black Panther Party' is scrolled out in thick print. Underneath, it lists ten bullets.

_1. We want freedom. We want power to determine the destiny of our black Community._

_2. We want full employment for our people._

_3. We want an end to the robbery by the white man of our black Community._

_4. We want decent housing, fit for shelter of human beings._

_5. We want education for our people that exposes the true nature of this decadent American society. We want education that teaches us our true history and our role in the present-day society._

_6. We want all black men to be exempt from military service._

_7. We want an immediate end to POLICE BRUTALITY and MURDER of black people._

_8. We want freedom for all black men held in federal, state, county and city prisons and jails._

_9. We want all black people when brought to trial to be tried in court by a jury of their peer group or people from their black communities, as defined by the Constitution of the United States._

_10. We want land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice and peace. And as our major political objective, a United Nations-supervised plebiscite to be held throughout the black colony in which only black colonial subjects will be allowed to participate for the purpose of determining the will of black people as to their national destiny._

I am nodding to myself as I read. I've always admired Newton and Seale (the founders of the Black Panthers, among others) for their bravery in penning ideas like this. I've always found it uplifting, and it makes me quite excited, to say the least. It's always made me want to shout to the world about how I am black, and frankly, I'm probably freakin' better than you at everything! (Okay, okay, I'll admit, overstatement there.. but who cares?)

This is probably what Hope wanted to talk about. Maybe I should write her right no-

I yawn loudly and everyone turns to look at me, albeit it was done so awkwardly. I blush slightly. "What time is it?"

"Es ist.. halb dreizehn uhr."

I frown. "English, bitte." Yes, even I can pick up _some_ German after a while.

He frowns back at me. "Twelve-thirty PM."

Groaning, I stand up, walking towards the door. It opens for me.

The courtyard next to the respawn room is covered in a white blanket of snow, and I just stare for a moment. It all looks so serene, and it makes me wonder how long it will stay like that. I just shake my head and walk towards to dorms for a mid-afternoon nap.

* * *

**A/N: OKAY, I'M SORRY, THIS CHAPTER WAS TOTALLY BORING OTL**

**But on the bright side? You learned a little more about the Panther *smiles and gives a thumbs up***


	6. Chapter 6

We're back into fighting today. It'll be fun after a couple weeks off, and I will say, I have gotten better than I was when I first started. I was recruited in October, and it is now the beginning of January. We had a whole month off for Christmas and Hanukkah and the like, but none of us really had anything to do, so we just hung out. I learned that the Demo, Tavish, was abandoned by his parents, or that's what he told me in his drunken slurs. I also learned that the Engie and the Pyro are good buds, and that the Medic ain't such a bad guy after all. Oh, and Nathan's catholic, did ya'll know that?

.. No? Well, he is.

But like I said before, ceasefire ends today. All of us mercs are pretty hyped about that. Fighting is our thing, y'know? It's engraved in our bones, mangled within our flesh. It's part of who we are.

Not to get philosophical on ya or anything. It's just the truth.

* * *

While we're in the respawn room, Doc gives me a pat on the back and says no more. Nathan smiles at me and I nod. Everyone is impatient, waiting on their toes for the round to start.

When it does start, it goes smoothly. Of course, I die a bunch, but I'm used to it now. The enemy has captured our intelligence twice already when I emerge from the respawn. I can see an enemy Heavy heading down the spiral, and I follow him. It takes him awhile to realize I'm following him, which I am silently grateful for, but he does eventually notice me, and spins up his barrel in preparation. When I hear the noise, I pause. He's around the corner from my position, and I grip my crowbar anxiously. I'm waiting, and he's waiting. The noise of his barrel is slowly fading, perhaps he turned the next corner?

I get impatient with him, and after a few moments I rush around the corner, only to be met with a wave of bullets in my lower half.

In instant pain, my body is flung backwards, and I can feel my back collide with the wall.

When my body flops onto the ground again, I groan in pain. Nothing below my waist, and therefore, nothing fatal, was hit. In any other place, that would've been great, but not here. This means I'm practically useless.

The pain hits me in waves as adrenaline rushes through my body. "Shit!" Goddamn, this hurts. I hear the Engie's sentry explode, and I continue cursing. I need help. I need Doc, or Nathan, or shit, I need someone. But from the sounds of it, Engie's down. Overhead, I hear the announcer say something, but I'm in too much pain to listen. My vision is getting blurry, my hands are stained with crimson blood, and my legs are almost like swiss cheese. They're so beat up that I can feel the bone when my finger slips into one of the bullet holes.

Blood is still flowing steadily from the wounds as a crawl my way towards the respawn room. It's my best bet. This might hurt like hell, granted, but the round is almost over. Dying because the respawn turns off is not an option. They made that very clear in the job interview. Stupid rich bastards.

Shit.. this hurts a lot.. I can feel my face contort into a grimace, my hands are losing the strength to keep me moving toward the respawn. It's right there, so close to me...

Somehow, my head hits the floor. I don't know why, but I'm dizzy, everything is swirling.

"Nathan.." He's right there.. With our intelligence.. Why does he have our intelligence?.. Shit...

And like that, I'm out. Black, cold. I'm down.

* * *

When I wake up, which is surprising enough in of itself, I'm not sure where I am. That happens a lot to people right? Not knowing where you are when you wake up after being almost mortally wounded?

Well, I don't know, okay? It's never happened to me before!

Everything hurts, my legs especially. At least I can feel them. I go to sit up, but something pushes me back down. I open my eyes, only to be met with the bright red light of a medigun.

"D-Doc.." When I get no response, I begin to sit up again, before I realize that a thick leather strap is holding me to the bed. At least, I think it's a bed.

My voice croaks when call for him again, struggling against my bonds. This is starting to get kinda weird..

"Doc, this isn't funny, get me outta here.." It looks like he heard me, because he comes waltzing in like this ain't no big deal. Man, he's such an asshole sometimes..

I think I hear him curse softly, but it's hard to tell. "I thought I gave you enough Halothane to knock you out for a couple more hours." He states, though I think it was mostly to himself. And what the hell is Halothane?

He sees my confused look and gives a little sigh, adjusting the medigun, then turns to me. I struggle against my bonds again, showing him that I ain't comfortable. "Come on, let me up."

"I can't do that just yet. You might do something to injure yourself. You'll need a couple more minutes under the medigun." He fixes his glasses, glaring down at me. "Do not glare at me like that."

"I can't help it. You tied me to a goddamn bed."

"Correction, it's a table."

"That doesn't make it any better! If anything, that makes it worse!" We spend a couple minutes in silence, still glaring slightly at each other. "Can I get up now?"

"Ja, that would be the best idea." He unstraps me, still glaring.

I'm on my way out when Doc speaks up slowly. "By the way, thank the BLU scout next time you see him. He's the one that carried you into the respawn room."

_… What?!_

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, goddamn, this is late! Along with a lot of other things that were late.. I BLAME SCHOOL, AND L4D2, AND TF2 AND... GAH, EVERYTHING.**


End file.
